


poison i can swim in

by polkaprintpjs



Series: pirates but make it space [1]
Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, F/F, Humanformers, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Inspired by Treasure Planet (2002), Or Three, POV Second Person, Space Pirates, Treasure Planetesque, Whirl does a murder
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-19
Updated: 2020-08-19
Packaged: 2021-03-06 01:15:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,289
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25984969
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/polkaprintpjs/pseuds/polkaprintpjs
Summary: im on tumblr @megatronismegagone
Relationships: Cyclonus/Tailgate (Transformers)
Series: pirates but make it space [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1885957
Kudos: 6





	poison i can swim in

You shove past half the damn crew to get to the nav panel. Shrike looks irritated as she waves you on. 

“Get your ass over here. You read Neocybex, yes?” 

You eye the pad she shoves in your face, but take it anyway. Or you try to. She drops a heavy arm around your bony shoulders and keeps a grip on one side of the pad. You let yourself lean into her, just a bit. If any of the crew see, they’ll keep their mouths shut. Or maybe they won’t and you’ll get to have some fun. 

“This isn’t Neocybex.” You say, shoving it back. “That’s old. You’d need a fossil to read whatever it is.” 

She’s not too happy with that, eyes slitting and her scales flaring. 

“It’s Cybertronian.  _ You’re _ Cybertronian. What, you can’t read?” 

You narrow your eye and bare your teeth to match her snarl as her arm tightens, grinding your bones against each other. 

“I can’t read  _ that _ ,” You say. “Ask someone who was alive  _ before _ the War.” 

Her eyes flick to something just past your head. 

“Storm,” she says, stepping away from you and toward her other pet. You shake off the warmth and cross your arms. 

Brainstorm doesn’t bother to correct her, just reaches for the pad. She hands it over easy- he’d gotten her trust by existing. 

Your hand throbs at the thought and you look out over  _ Hawk’s Claw _ ‘s bow to distract yourself. 

“Shrike,” you say, because she may not trust you to hold a pad but she doesn’t force honorifics anymore. 

She eyes you, and you can tell you’ve got about one more chance to not piss her off before you’ll spend the week regretting it. Unfortunately for you, this is a problem you have to pass up the chain. You jerk your head to the reaches of space and her eyes follow. She’s still for an instant, then barks up to the lookout. 

“Kela, what, you lose your eyes?” 

You shift, waiting, and her attention snaps back to you. 

“We fight,” she says, and turns to march Brainstorm back below. That’s fine, you know the drill. You’ve got the nonessentials stowed and the ship on a collision course to the strange vessel by the time she makes it back on deck. She takes over command seamlessly and you settle yourself in the shadow of the stairs up to aft deck. 

You take the time to be smug about the fact that even though Shrike takes every little offense out on your hide, she doesn’t force you below deck when you’re not needed. You’re just fine only being below when it’s deserved. Your satisfaction sours when you think about Brainstorm’s cage, a room with a bed. Sure it’s a repurposed closet, but he’s not the one who gets the isopup crate, is he.

Your eye is visible, but that’s fine; as long as the poor fuckers on the other ship don’t realize it’s attached to somebody just yet, you’re golden. Heh. 

* * *

Your claw folds to a massive hook and you use it. Sure, punching’s fun and all, but it’s a helluva time to drag ‘em forward, get up close and personal. 

You can hear Shrike on the aft deck of the ship-  _ Placeholder _ spray painted on the side, which is all you need to know about this crew- and from the sounds of it, she’s having just as much fun as you are. 

You haul in another catch- this one’s half grown, a little fledgeling. You help him out, pitch him off the side. He doesn’t seem to appreciate the assistance, feathers flaring with alarm as he slings past the ship’s grav field. 

You don’t watch him go, just turn to the next. 

She’s a little thing, smaller than that last one but older. 

You bare your teeth and lurch forward, just to see if she’ll jump; instead, she swings at you with a pipe. It’s like that, then? Your hook’s a smooth bar that half envelopes your arm- fair is fair, after all. 

She tries again and you knock it out of her hands. Her head jerks to follow its path, then back to you. 

“Look, Pipsqueak, it was a good try. Why don’t you tell Feathers  _ all _ about it?” 

She clenches her fists, makes as if to lunge. 

You laugh, and its high and forced. She’s tiny, and you’re very much  _ not _ . 

If she’s smart, she’ll take the opening and bolt; but you blink and she’s  _ there _ , in your face already. 

You swipe with the bar- she had her chance- and someone hits you from the side like a fucking  _ freighter _ . 

Your hook catches on the rail and you swing yourself back on deck. She’s gone, heading toward where Shrike is playing with the Placeholder’s captain. 

In her place is another woman, taller and broader. She meets your smile- jam packed with enough mockery you’d spend a week in the infirmary and another in the brig if you sent it Shrike’s way- with a level look. 

Still, you can practically  _ feel _ the rage coming off her; guess pipsqueak’s a friend of hers. 

You don’t wait for her to remember the sword she’s holding. 

You feint upper right, then go for her right knee; she counters easy and just about takes a chunk out of your side. 

All right then, no kiddie gloves for her. You’re about to follow through, turn the dodge into something  _ useful _ \- but you catch Shrike’s whistle, up up up  _ go _ and you spin to follow, but Sword clamps her hand on the back of your neck and  _ wrenches _ . 

You’re off balance and half off your feet, head closing fast with the deck and Shrike turns her back on you. 

* * *

When you open your eye, you smell blood and piss and motor oil. 

You don’t try to sit up; your arm is numb the way a stasis cuff feels and your wrists are shackled together. 

Shrike saw you, and turned away. 

Your head pulses with dizziness and you close your eye. You know what that means; you’ve been left for dead, and even if you make it off this piece of shit- then what? You’d be killed as a deserter the instant a pirate set eyes on you; you’re not exactly subtle. 

You’re aware, suddenly, that you can hear someone else’s breathing. 

You jerk up, curling around your wrists. Brainstorm’s in the corner, hands cuffed but otherwise unrestrained. 

You see your cuffs are attached to the wall, with about three feet of slack. Your legs are free, though, which isn’t nothing; you’ve been with Shrike too long to discount every inch you’re given. You look over at Brainstorm again, and realize he’s asleep. 

Lucky, lucky. 

You look to the bars on the front of the cell- as far as brigs go, this one’s nice- and there’s Pipsqueak, frowning at you. You show your teeth as you sneer. 

“What, tall, dark and swordy too busy to babysit?” 

She smiles back, but it’s not amused. 

“Do you want water or not?” 

You don’t look at the flask she’s holding. 

“Not. Thanks, though.” 

She keeps eye contact, but her smile turns… something. 

“You were out for a while, and doc said you’re pretty dehydrated. Are you sure?” 

You start to bite something back, but she’s already turning away. 

“Actually, I don’t care. Someone will be by later, maybe if you ask really nicely they’ll give you some.” 

You’re not too busy swearing after her to realize the flask isn’t sloshing as she goes- it was empty the whole time. 

Damn, Pipsqueak has a mean streak. You scoot back with your heels until your back hits the wall, and you settle to wait. 

Not much else to do.

**Author's Note:**

> im on tumblr @megatronismegagone


End file.
